Some time ago in Edinburgh two gentlemen were standing at the door of an hotel one very cold day, when a little boy with a poor thin blue face, his bare feet red with cold, and with nothing to cover him but a bundle of rags, came and said, "Please, sir, buy some matches." "No, don’t want any," the gentleman said. "But they are only a penny a box," the poor little fellow pleaded. "Yes, but you see we don’t want a box," the gentleman said again. "Then I’ll give you two for a penny," the boy said at last. And so to get rid of him the gentleman who tells the story says, I bought a box of him. But then I found I had no change, and so I said I would buy a box tomorrow. "Oh do buy them to-night, if you please," the boy again pleaded, "I will run and get you the change, for I’m very hungry." So I gave him the shilling, and off he started. I waited for him, but no boy came. Then I thought I had lost my shilling; still there was that in the boy’s face I trusted, and I did not like to think ill of him. Late in the evening I was told a boy wanted to see me. When he was brought in, I found it was a smaller brother of the boy that had got my shilling, but if possible still more ragged and poor and thin. He stood for a moment diving into his rags, and then said, "Are you the gentleman that bought the matches from Sandie?" "Yes." "Well, then, here’s fourpence out of your shilling; Sandie can’t come, he’s very ill; a cart ran over him, and knocked him down, and he lost his cap and his matches and your sevenpence, and both his legs are broken, and the doctor says he’ll die, and that’s all." And then, putting the fourpence on the table, the poor child broke out into great sobs. So I fed the little man, and went with him to see Sandie. The two poor little things lived alone, father and mother both dead. Poor Sandie lay on a bundle of shavings; he knew me as soon as I came in, and having told me how his legs were broken, he added, as his eyes fell on his little brother, "Oh Reuby, little Reuby! I’m sure I’m dying, and who’ll take care of you when I am gone?" Then I took his hand and said, I would always take care of Reuby. He understood me, and had just strength enough left to look up at me, as if to thank me; the light went out of his blue eyes. And in a moment-- "He lay within the light of God Like a babe upon the breast, Where the wicked cease from troubling And the weary are at rest." That story was told in the noblest church of our great city. It was reported in the papers the following day. And I have no hesitation in saying that beautiful as are the words in which it is told, and wonderful as the effect may have been on the hearts of those who heard it, it was a sight far more wonderful than any we can imagine, when that story was told in the courts of the kingdom of heaven.